


Return to me, the one I love so endlessly

by SuperHeroTiger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, IronDad and SpiderSon, Irondad, Kidnapping, Manipulative Quentin Beck, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Swearing, The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange 2020, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Villain Quentin Beck, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperHeroTiger/pseuds/SuperHeroTiger
Summary: James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.‘…My love for you is endless…’Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Quentin Beck & Peter Parker
Comments: 89
Kudos: 249
Collections: The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange





	1. What you want, and what you need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WriterReadsStuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterReadsStuff/gifts).



> Hello, hello, hello!
> 
> This story is written for the lovely BadMcuPosts on Tumblr for the second Friendly Neighbourhood Exchange! I cannot even describe to you how excited I am to share this with everyone, because the moment I got the prompt "Peter is the kidnapped son of Tony Stark, raised in a Rapunzel situation," my mind went wild with the idea! That's how I ended up planning a 6-chapter long story (which I'm still in the process of writing but the goal is to have a new update weekly), but I'm telling you guys, it's going to be such a fun ride! I hope you're ready for angst, for tears, and a whole lot of drama! Enjoy!!!
> 
> -Superherotiger
> 
> (Trigger Warnings: Emotional and physical abuse of a child, alcoholism, kidnapping, swearing)

Tony Stark had never wanted to be a father.

His own father, Howard Stark, had been a pretty efficient deterrent from that idea. Tony would never forget the way the man’s eyes would stare upon him, cold and distant, almost bordering on disdain. Did he realise he was his son? His child? His _blood_? He’d looked at Tony like a stranger, and the further the boy pushed for his father’s affection the further Howard pulled away. The only time he even batted an eye in Tony’s direction was when he made a mistake, shouting at the cowering boy and later, hitting his teenage son across the face when Tony worked up the nerve to bite back.

Was that all a father was good for? Harsh discipline and icy words? Because if it was, then Tony wanted nothing to do with it. And he promised himself years later as he stood beside his parents’ graves -not even feeling a hint of grief flowing through his veins at the sight of Howard’s name etched in stone- that he would never be a father. That he never, _ever_ wanted a child of his own.

But that’s the funny thing, isn’t it? What you _want_ and what you _need_ are not always the same thing, and the universe seemed intent to prove it so.

Because almost a decade after that fateful promise was made, Tony Stark sat in the maternity ward of the hospital and felt his entire world shift when Mary Parker gently lowered a baby - _his_ baby- into his awaiting arms.

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony cried tears of _joy_.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. And when James burrowed further into his hold, Tony was so overwhelmed with a wave of _love_ that he could barely keep it contained, murmuring words in Italian that he hadn’t spoken since his mother had died.

_My son. My treasure. My star in the sky._

Within mere seconds it had become the best day of Tony’s life, and he knew when those baby brown eyes fluttered open to meet his own that he would love this child until the end of his days. His son would never know the cruelness of Howard, but instead, he would only know the adoration that Tony held for him. A few months ago the idea of infinity had once seemed terrifying to Tony, but he knew deep in his bones that the love he held for his son would never diminish. His love for James was _endless_ ; it always would be.

Tony cradled this precious little being against his chest long into the night, murmuring these promises in a whisper, as if it were a secret between the two of them alone.

_My love for you is endless…_

When James’ mother was killed by a drunk driver three months later, Tony promised these words again as he held the boy protectively in his arms, tears cold from agony leaking down his cheeks as they watched the coffin be lowered into the cold earth.

_My love for you is endless…_

And when the fear that James would someday notice the absence of his mother -of her _love_ \- began to overwhelm him, Tony sought out the family jeweller to make a special request. A pure silver ring with James’ birthstone -a vibrant green peridot- in the centre, and engraved on the inside, the words:

_My love for you is endless._

The ring -so beautiful in its simplicity- slid onto Tony’s right index finger with ease, as if it were always meant to be there. A circle has no end, and neither did Tony’s love for his son. Some days he would stare at the simple gemstone and wonder if the whole thing were just too sappy, if James would one day recoil at the symbol of affection his father displayed so proudly and beg him not to wear it. Both Pepper and Rhodey assured him that he wouldn’t, that it would mean the world to James to know how deeply his father cared, and that _“No, Tony, you’re not going soft”_ despite the even sappier words engraved beneath it.

But they weren’t just words, they were a _promise_. The promise he’d made the day James was born to be a father -a _better_ father than Howard had ever been. The promise to raise him even without the aid of Mary.

The promise that he loved him, no matter what.

A week after James’ first birthday, Tony would stare down at the words engraved into the ring between his fingers and remember all those promises. He was sitting on the rocking chair in the nursery, but the air was cold and the moonlight was dim as it filtered through the windows. Tony couldn’t bare to look at the crib. At the broken glass still littering the carpet from a shattered photo frame, the image it once contained of father and son stolen away.

Stolen, just like James was.

The thought brought tears burning back to his eyes and Tony pushed his face into his hands, the sobs that tore from his throat sounding like thunder in the silence of the empty nursery. It had happened so fast. One moment Tony had been laying James down in his crib on the night of his first birthday, tuckered out after a day full of celebrations, and then the next morning, he was _gone_.

Police swarmed the mansion like bees for the two days that followed. Interviews were taken. Searches were held. But by the end of the week, his son was still missing.

Tony spent hours just staring at his cellphone, waiting, _begging_ in his mind for a demand of money or weapons or whatever the hell they wanted so long as they gave him back his son. His precious little James.

The phone never rang.

And now, a whole week since his son had been stolen away, the feeling of failure crashed into Tony like a tidal wave as he tightened his hold on the ring, whispering the same promise into his hands like a prayer.

_…My love for you is endless…_

* * *

**…**

* * *

The sun shone down like a warm summer blanket across the dry, cracked fields and the surrounding forest of pine, their deep green needles seeming to shimmer like an ocean when the wind passed through the branches. Clouds that looked as soft as feathers were scattered across the otherwise bright blue sky, and though signs of the shifting seasons were bound to appear soon, the day was as bright as the middle of summer, beautiful and peaceful in every sense of the word.

Peter closed his eyes and hummed at the birdsong that drifted through the air, absorbing the warm rays of sunlight that hit his bare arms. He liked it up here on the sloping roof outside his bedroom window. On the nights Peter had trouble sleeping he would always crawl out onto the cold tiles and search for constellations, marvelling at the beauty of the stars and wishing he could reach as high as them. The sunshine was just as inviting though, and Peter couldn’t help but be thankful for the lively atmosphere that surrounded him: Birds chirping to each other, bugs humming across the field, the gentle creaking of trees from the forest. They all came together to create a world filled with sound and movement and _life_ , and for just a moment, Peter felt a little less lonely.

Tilting his face up to the sky, Peter drew in a few more seconds of serenity before forcing himself back to his feet. As much as he wanted to sit out here for hours and enjoy the view of the property he called home, Peter still had chores to do while his father was at work.

Not even the beauty of nature would be worth Beck’s fury if he missed any of his daily duties.

So crawling back through the window with one last glance at the golden paddocks beyond, Peter slipped into his daily routine and began to clean his room. It wasn’t a difficult task. He kept the space as orderly as possible to avoid his father’s scrutinising glare, but he still went through and straightened and dusted every last surface for the next half hour out of habit. Not that he actually _owned_ that much to clean, but what he did have, Peter made sure to keep in the best condition.

After that he move down the hallway and collected the empty glass bottles scattered at the door of Beck’s locked bedroom, the glass knocking against one another rhythmically as he descended the old wooden stairs. The kitchen tiles were cold beneath his toes and he caught the smell of something burnt as he disposed of the bottles, and judging by the cracked and mangled appliance laying across the bench top, Peter figured the old toaster must have finally become a victim of Beck’s frustration. A note with the words _“Buying a new one tonight. Take whatever you want,”_ laid beside it in Beck’s quick handwriting, and Peter’s engineering brain immediately kicked into gear at the sight of the deconstructed machinery now at his disposal.

Today just kept getting better and better!

So carefully moving the broken toaster back to his room for later, Peter rushed around the house in an excited whirlwind to finish the rest of his chores. He cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom, washed the dirty laundry, swept the porch, hung out the wet clothing and wiped down the windows with meticulous accuracy. The routine was so familiar to Peter at this point that his thoughts drifted away for most of it, running on muscle memory alone as he did his morning rounds.

By the time he finished it was only midday, so Peter pulled out one of the textbooks on the shelf and forced himself to study for at least another hour. He must have done the equations in this math book at least a thousand times before but the small collection of books were all he had to keep his mind sharp, his only chance at an education after the _incident_. Memories of schoolyards and teachers and other children came to mind but Peter pushed them away almost immediately, ignoring the deep pit of longing in his chest at the thought of school. He hadn’t been to one since he was twelve. Not after the field trip, not after Beck…

Peter rubbed the back of his head anxiously and forged ahead with the equations, hoping the phantom hands on his neck would fade if he just ignored them.

It had been his fault, really. Peter remembered the day the teacher had handed out the permission slips for the excursion, remembered how he trembled in his seat as he held it, fear and excitement crashing into him all at once. The excursion would be a day trip to a neighbouring town where OsCorp -one of the leading tech companies of the world- would be hosting an exhibit for rural schools. It was a one in a lifetime opportunity; a chance to see what the experts in the field were working on and a glimpse into Peter’s dream job. All of that in the form of this one little paper.

So Peter -knowing that his overprotective father would never approve of a field trip outside their small town- had done something bad. He’d _lied_.

And the worst part was that he almost got away with it too. The teachers hadn’t questioned the forged signature and Beck hadn’t seemed at all suspicious the morning that Peter left for the field trip. After all, the exhibit only went for the day, so he’d be back home before his father had even finished work. It was foolproof. It was perfect!

If only that stupid spider hadn’t broken out of its exhibit. If only Peter could have hidden his growing illness on the bus well enough. If only his teachers hadn’t called his father to explain his condition, and in turn, spilled the truth about the field trip in the process.

The silence in the car as Beck drove them home that night had been excruciating, but the shouting when they entered the house had been worse.

 _“You little piece of shit! I provide for you, take care of you and you have the nerve lie to_ me _!”_

Peter, who had been too weak and tired from the probably venomous spider bite on his arm could only try and sob out an apology.

 _“Shut the fuck up!”_ Beck had screamed, throwing his frail body against the wall. _“You did this to yourself, you hear me?! If you_ ever _lie to me again Peter I will fucking end you! You understand?!”_

_“I’m sorry! I’ll ne-never do it again, I swear!”_

_“You’re damn right you won’t! I hope you said goodbye to all your friends Pete, cause you’re never leaving this fucking house again!”_

Peter had never cried as hard as he did that night, because despite the alcohol lingering on his father’s breath, he knew he would hold true to his word. Beck _always_ meant what he said. And so that night, aching all over and lying in his sweat and tear-soaked bed, Peter came to terms with the fact that he would never set foot outside the property again. No more school. No more library. No more anything. He’d taken a risk and paid the ultimate price, and Peter had never felt so miserable -physically or mentally- in his life. The only small gift he got in exchange for his suffering was the following day when his father, upon realising Peter was still violently ill in bed, began to stroke his hair comfortingly and whisper soft reassurances. _“It’s alright buddy, it’s alright,”_ he’d murmured, grabbing the Harry Potter book from the shelf and sitting at Peter’s side. _“How about some wizardry to cheer you up. Maybe I can even cast a spell to make that flu go away, huh?”_

The lightness of his father’s chuckle drew Peter to his side like a moth to flame, so desperate for his forgiveness and comfort that he was able to block out the awful night that had preceded it from his memory for a little while. And Beck, true to his word, read through the chapters of Harry Potter until Peter had fallen into a fitful rest, his father’s hand laid soothingly atop his head. To this day it was still one of Peter’s favourite memories…

That, and of course, the morning that would come to follow when he realised he could suddenly see without his glasses. That he healed faster and could jump higher and hit harder and had -in every sense of the word- _super powers!_

Peter never told his father about that detail, and he never planned to either. These powers, these _gifts_ were the best thing that had ever happened to him! They gave him something to work for, gave him _hope_ for something greater. What it would be, Peter wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that it was worth protecting. Worth fighting for, even if the fighting came in the form of secret projects and hidden practice sessions in the woods with his newfound powers.

Maybe someday these powers would even lead him to a life outside the property…

Shaking the hopeful thoughts away, Peter scribbled down the rest of his answers and moved on to his next objective. For the next three hours he sat on the floor of his room and completely took apart the already mangled toaster, sorting every useful piece into neat little piles around him like a star system. When everything was in its place he sketched out ideas and mapped out potential gadgets he could make with the spare parts he’d have after he finished his latest project; mechanical wristbands that could dispense the chemical solution he’d recently perfected with his chemistry kit.

The substance -or webbing, as he liked to call it- was entirely for medical purposes, designed to create a strong and flexible mesh that could cover an open wound, sticking it together and staunching any blood flow until the wound could heal itself. He was still tinkering with the formula to see how durable he could make it since it would always dissolve after three hours, but it was still effective none the less. And now he had the final parts for the web-dispensers, he might actually get to try it out without accidentally sticking his hands together for three miserable hours like last time.

And so Peter worked the rest of the day away, crafting mechanical wristbands and mixing a new batch of his secret formula. He stored everything away in his wardrobe when he noticed the sun slipping down the horizon through his window and began to set up everything for their dinner. Beck would be finishing work any moment now, and if it was a good day, then he would be home within the hour. And if it was a bad day…

Well… Peter tried not to think about that.

The pasta was minutes away from being ready when he heard the familiar crunching of tires against dirt in the distance, glancing at the clock anxiously when he realised his father was later than usual. Hoping his day wasn’t about to take a sour turn, Peter lowered the heat on the stove and stepped out onto the front porch just as Beck’s car skidded to a halt in front of the stairs, the engine growling into the quiet evening like a wild beast on the prowl. Peter’s shoulders tensed as he waited anxiously to gauge his father’s mood, but the moment the car door opened and the absence of alcohol filled his senses, Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey buddy,” Beck called as he shut the door behind him, the sunset painting a red hue across the comforting smile on his lips. “How you been?”

“Good! Really good! It’s been a such a nice day out,” Peter practically beamed as he raced down the stairs to meet his father. He loved it when he was in a good mood.

“It sure was. Did you get all your chores done?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, feeling a brief spike of anxiety as Beck’s eyes narrowed scrutinisingly at the windows, before feeling his muscles relax when his father turned back with a light smile. He inclined his head approvingly before reaching into the back seat and lifting out a box, a new toaster Peter realised as he turned towards the light.

“Want me to help?” Peter offered lightly.

Beck just shook his head, cradling the box under one arm and pulling something else out from the back of the car. “I got you something today,” Beck said cheerily.

“Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Shutting the door with his foot, Beck handed Peter the aforementioned gift and smiled when Peter stuttered at the sight.

“A new textbook?” Peter practically gasped, his eyes wide with awe as he stared up it his father hopefully. He hadn’t gotten a new textbook in months; it was almost too good to be true.

“Yeah, a chemistry one too. I know you like all that weird shit,” Beck scoffed, but Peter was too enraptured by the heavy book weighing down in his hands to acknowledge the mocking tone in his voice. Beck had always thought chemistry was a useless subject. He was an engineer after all, never seeing the point in the _‘organic crap’_ as he called it. When Peter asked about mechanics though his father’s eyes would light up with an excited fire, rambling for hours about projects and machines he’d worked on decades ago. Things that would change reality as we knew it, he proclaimed once. Peter had never been daring enough to ask what he actually created though.

“Thank you so much Dad, I love it,” Peter said as he hugged the textbook to his chest in awe. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been today. Between the broken toaster, the clear sunny day and this precious gift, Peter might’ve thought he’d jumped a week into the future by accident.

At least a birthday would explain all of the luxury he’d been graced with in a single day.

Peter still couldn’t believe he turned fifteen in a week. He wondered if he would feel different on the day- if he would wake up filled with energy and knowledge that he hadn’t possessed at fourteen. It was unlikely, but nevertheless, it was fun to think about. The most he probably had to look forward to were some new books or figurines, -which were still like gold to Peter- but, he’d just hoped there would be something… _more_ this time. Something big, something fun-

Something _outside_ of the property.

Now _that_ was a lot to hope for. Beck held true to his promises, and Peter doubted anything he said would change his mind, birthday or not.

But maybe… with the amount of good luck he was having today…

Dispelling the thoughts with a shake of his head, Peter smiled sheepishly at his father and followed him back up the stairs into the house, immediately moving to place the textbook alongside the others on the shelf. When he walked back into the kitchen he found Beck lifting out the new toaster and placing it in the corner, heading for the fridge the moment his hands were free and pulling out a beer. Peter tried not to feel uneasy about that as he turned his attention back to the still boiling pasta, shifting around the small kitchen as he finished everything off for dinner.

Beck was scrolling through something on his tablet when Peter finally placed a bowl of spaghetti on the table in front of him, earning a quick “Thanks bud,” as Peter settled down on the seat beside him. They ate in silence, just like they always did. For Peter it was mostly out of ravenous hunger -the only downside from his little spider friend-, while for Beck it seemed purely out of disinterest as his eyes scanned over whatever was displayed on his tablet lazily.

When Peter had eaten as much as possible without arousing suspicion, he thought he might try and break the eerie quiet that had fallen across the household. “Was work busy today?” he asked, his voice carefully light.

Beck’s shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “Nah. It was pretty boring actually.”

“Maybe you can show me the ropes someday?” Peter suggested as he took both of their empty bowls to the sink. “I can become, like, your apprentice!”

At that Beck finally broke out into a smile, replying teasingly “Can you imagine? The town would go nuts with _two_ gifted mechanics here to fix every dented bumper and busted engine that rolls our way.”

Peter froze, the unexpected praise coiling around his chest like a warm hug before he turned towards his father in surprise. If Beck noticed his reaction though he didn’t show it, staring down at his tablet once more with the hints of a smile still lingering on his face. The thoughts that Peter had so valiantly tried to push down from earlier returned with a vengeance at the sight of his father’s light expression, whispering- _begging_ him to say something. Peter bit down on his lip anxiously.

God, Beck was in such a good mood. Peter hadn’t seen him like this for a while now, so relaxed and open with his praise and affection. Part of Peter wanted to just sit in this bubble of warmth and savour it for what it was, but the other part -the selfish part- wanted to take advantage of it. He’d pushed boundaries with his father before and rarely come out victorious, but maybe tonight, maybe it would work…

“Hey Dad?” Peter spoke before the rational side of his brain could catch up.

“Yeah Pete?”

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat, figuring it was too late to turn back now and beginning softly “You know how it’s, uh- its my birthday next week?”

“Again? Shit, I thought that happened last year,” Beck said jokingly.

Mustering some courage, Peter decided to test the waters and replied with a hint of sarcasm “It did happen last year, and the year before that and the year before _that_.”

Peter waited for the snap, the reprimand for snarking, but it never came. Instead Beck only scoffed out a laugh, his eyes still fixed to the screen in front of him. “Touché,” he said, causing Peter’s lungs to deflate in relief. “So, you got a list for what you want this year then?”

Now the panic flooded back into Peter’s chest, scratching the back of his neck anxiously as he tried to gather his words. He never thought he’d make it to this point in all honestly.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Beck chimed when Peter still hadn’t responded.

Peter sucked in a breath and forced his voice not to shake as he said “Well, it’s just _one_ thing actually.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

_Here we go._

“I was wondering if we- if we could… um… go to New York for my birthday?”

Cold air rushed into the room so fast that Peter actually shuddered.

“What did you just say?”

All the confidence that had been building in Peter’s chest seemed to fall apart like sand at his father’s harsh tone, flinching when he met the deep blue eyes that were suddenly fixed on him from across the room. Peter gripped the edge of the stone bench top behind him and tried not to let the terror show on his expression. He searched for any semblance of the warmth that had filled the space moments ago but it was long gone, leaving only a tension so thick it was actually suffocating to take its place.

Peter felt the stone straining beneath his white knuckled grip when Beck rose from his seat at the table, his eyes never breaking from Peter’s.

“What was that again?” Beck asked, his tone deceivingly light. But Peter could see the coldness in his eyes, warning him not to make a wrong move.

 _Too late for that,_ Peter thought drearily.

“I just… I just thought it might- might be nice to…”

“No go ahead. Say it,” Beck prompted when his voice trailed off into silence.

Peter swallowed harshly, his mouth as dry as a desert. “I… I just wanted to, to see New York…”

Walking towards him with slow, powerful strides, Beck asked, “And where exactly did this big idea come from?”

Peter knew exactly what that question really meant.

_How do you know about New York Peter? How do you know about a city I’ve never mentioned?_

“I- I heard about it back in school,” Peter forced out as evenly as he could manage. “The teacher had a presentation about it one day… about the history and the architecture, I just… I just thought it might be nice, that’s all…”

It wasn’t technically a lie. He really _had_ learnt about the city from his schooldays, listening attentively as his teacher described the towering skyscrapers and speeding subways one day in class. He was _so_ enraptured, in fact, that at recess he went straight to the school library and pulled out any book on New York he could find, instantly falling in love with the city that never sleeps and retaining that love even now in his sheltered little world. For years he’d dreamt of a day he might get to see it, assuming it would be when he turned eighteen and moved out of home.

But with the way this conversation seemed to be turning, Peter had the horrible feeling it was going to be a lot longer than that.

Beck had stopped in front of him now, towering over the teen and staring down at him with hard, calculating eyes. He seemed to be contemplating Peter’s statement, judging how true it really was. And grasping onto the honesty in his words, Peter managed to keep his gaze steady and locked onto his father’s in their silent staring match.

The sincerity and _fear_ in Peter’s eyes must have accounted for something though as Beck released a tense breath through his nose after a moment, adverting his gaze to the wall. “New York is almost a three-day drive away,” he said, though the tension in his jaw suggested a different issue.

Peter stared down at his bare feet, desperately trying to keep his breathing under control. “I know…” he started, his voice soft, before he tried to say with a hint of courage “It’s just… it’s been so long since I’ve been outside the property I-“

“And whose fault is that?” Beck snarled, snapping his attention back to the boy with an icy glare.

With nowhere to go and nowhere else to look, Peter felt himself shrink under the intensity of those murky blue eyes, saying swiftly “I- I know, I’m sorry… I know that it’s my fault…”

That seemed to quell the anger in Beck’s eyes slightly, his jaw loosening but shoulders still squared in such a way that Peter had no option but to face him. Bowing his head timidly in an attempt to break the tension dragging the oxygen out of his lungs, Peter mustered his voice just enough to say “I just wanted to spend time with you… I feel like I hardly see you anymore…”

A moment of silence passed between them. Then another.

Peter waited with bated breath as he stared at the cracked, tiled floor and his father’s scuffed work boots, shifting his weight back and forth in anticipation for his response.

Unlike the cold air that had swept across the room within seconds early, this change was slow. Painstakingly so. First Beck’s shoulders lowered from their fighting stance, then his frown released, and finally his eyes softened as he let out a sigh. It was nowhere near the jovial attitude he’d had before, but it was an improvement nonetheless.

Beck lifted his hand and Peter couldn’t help the flinch that followed, but if his father had noticed then he didn’t seem to care as he carded his fingers through the boy’s chestnut curls. Peter, unsure why he was receiving such affection after that fiasco, kept his gaze locked on the floor and his body tensed for an unexpected move. Waiting for the shouting. Waiting for the blow to the head…

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy bud,” Beck said, his voice a warm hum compared to the growl it had been only moments ago. “But if you want food on the table at the end of the day then I gotta work as much as I can.”

Peter nodded slowly, allowing himself to feel the comfort of Beck’s hand against his cheek as he murmured “I know… I miss you though.”

“Me too bud,” his father said through a light, but, empty smile. “How about I shut down the shop on your birthday and we’ll have a marathon of all the Star Wars movies, huh? Does that sound like fun?”

Just like he’d seen through Beck’s other statements, Peter saw through this one like glass.

They weren’t going to leave the house.

 _Peter_ wasn’t going to leave the house, not even for his own birthday.

It took the teen a few moments to swallow this realisation, the hope that he hadn’t even realised had been building up his heart suddenly plummeting to the floor and shattering into a thousand unsalvageable pieces. He should have known better… He _knew_ it wouldn’t work, but he’d let himself hope anyway. Maybe his dream of exploring the towering city of New York would just have to stay like that.

A _dream_.

But collecting himself enough to gaze up at his father, Peter nodded and said through a forced smile “Yeah, yeah that’d be fun.”

Beck smiled fully this time and tugged the teen into a firm embrace, one arm wrapped around his shoulder blades and the other hand remaining curled in Peter’s silky hair. His presence was steady. _Safe_. It didn’t take long for Peter to melt into the comforting -and frankly, _rare_ \- touch and duck his head into the crook of Beck’s collarbone. He could still smell the motor-oil clinging to Beck’s work shirt and the faint hint of aftershave on his beard. The powerful beat of his heart beneath his eardrum. The even rise and fall of his chest with each controlled breath. All these familiar elements came together and wrapped around Peter like a heated blanket, drawing away those bitter thoughts of New York and his dread over a punishment that he’d seemingly managed to escape from. And for a moment, things didn’t seem so dreary…

“Peter?”

“Yes Dad?”

Peter felt all the terror rush back into his bones again when his father’s hold suddenly tightened from reassuring to _restrictive_ , the fingers in his hair twisting into a painful grip on his skull.

“Don’t _ever_ bring up New York again,” Beck practically hissed into Peter’s ear, his voice dripping with venom. “Got it?”

Unable to move his head to nod, Peter was forced to muster his voice and answered shakily “Yes sir… never again.”

“Good,” Beck said as he relinquished the embrace all together. A sense of emptiness rushed over Peter in that moment and left him blinking up at his father in subtle disappointment, hoping the affection could have lasted a little longer. It had been so long since someone had hugged him, he just wanted to hold onto that warm sensation in his chest and never let it go.

But despite recognising the saddened look in his son’s eyes, Beck made no move to reassure him, instead squaring his shoulders again and saying with an eerily blank stare “Everything I do, I do it for your own good.”

Peter ducked his head in a submissive nod. “I know Dad.”

“And I do it because I love you, son.”

This time Peter glanced up, straightening in surprise when he noticed the sincerity in Beck’s expression, the warmth shimmering from his clouded blue eyes. It was a rare declaration these days, but not an unwelcome one by far. And feeling something akin to pride tingling throughout his nerves, Peter tried his best to push down the shattered remains of his dreams and whatever thoughts lingered over New York as he held onto the praise, trying to muster a smile of his own.

“I love you too Dad,” he said, meaning every word.

But still, he couldn’t stop the longing -the _calling-_ towards the city of his dreams that had settled in his subconscious, quiet for now, but laying in wait for the right moment to strike…

* * *

**…**

* * *

When Peter woke up the next morning the sky was overcast in a sheet of foreboding clouds, the birds and crickets eerily silent throughout the usually lively fields and forest that surrounded the house. A sharp wind swept across the trees and made the branches rattle, and the sound of the wooden frames of the house creaking were the only sound to greet him that morning. The teen stared out at the grey expanse through the window with a heavy sigh.

Maybe this was karma for last night, but at this point, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d been lucky to get away with what he had, and he wasn’t keen on pushing his luck any further.

So after a few more moments of staring out at the dreary world before him, Peter dragged himself out of bed and fell back into his daily routine.

_Throw away the empty bottles at his father’s door. Eat breakfast. Clean the kitchen._

Wash, rinse, repeat…

_Scrub the bathroom. Wash the laundry. Sweep the porch._

Again and again like he had for three years…

_Hang out the wet clothing. Wipe the windows-_

Peter paused midway through swiping the cloth down the glass pane, turning towards the gust of wind that hit the porch and breathing it in deeply. For a moment he thought he had smelt something strange on the breeze, something metallic… something _familiar_.

Placing down the lemon scented bottle in his hand with the cloth, Peter stepped out to the edge of the verandah and drew in another breath through his nostrils, trying to figure out if he had just imagined the scent in his boredom.

But no, there it was again. Metallic… almost like copper. And the smell was stronger this time, thick and acidic to Peter’s heightened senses.

He knew that smell though, the answer lingering at the back of his throat but unable to leave his mouth.

Then another gust of wind swept through the field and the smell became a flood to Peter’s senses, a tingling sensation running down his spine in realisation.

Blood. The smell was _blood_.

Peter was sprinting down the dirt driveway without a moment’s hesitation. There was only two things that could bleed enough for Peter to smell it all the way from the house, and that was either a wild animal -in which case he might be able to save them if they were friendly enough- or some _one_ on the property.

That thought scared Peter even more.

He hadn’t talked to or even _seen_ anyone other than his father since that fateful field trip to OsCorp, and even to this day he regretted not trying harder to make friends when he’d had the chance as a child. He’d been too shy then, too quiet… boy what he wouldn’t give to have a friend now.

But shoving away the regrets of his past, Peter focused all his attention on finding whatever was bleeding out on their land, his feet pounding against the rocky ground as he searched for the source. The smell grew stronger as the fence-line came into view, the forest of pine trees stretching in every direction beyond the border except for the narrow road that his father would take to go to work.

When the wind began to lull Peter skidded to a halt and drew in another breath to find his direction.

He was close. The smell of copper was almost pungent now, weighing in the air like a heavy rain cloud.

Peter scanned the surroundings from his spot in the middle of the driveway, wondering if whatever had stumbled onto the property was lying in the tall golden grass, hidden from view. It was a possibility, he supposed. A wounded animal would surely choose to conceal themselves in the grass rather than become an easy meal for something else out in the open.

But then he saw it; a dead tree with barren branches standing not too far from the fence line. It had been struck by lightning a couple of years ago during a tremendous storm, but though the bark had remained scorched and twisted, the limbs unable to shed new leaves, it had stayed rooted in the ground out of sheer stubbornness and become a staple of the fields.

Without thinking, Peter began to walk towards the dead tree. He couldn’t explain why, but he had this… _feeling_ that he needed to go there. Not the same feeling as his spider-given sense or even the buzz in his nerves when Beck walked through the door reeking of alcohol, but something different. _Instinctual,_ almost.

Stepping through the sea of dry grass, Peter rounded the tree trunk fully expecting to find a wounded fox or maybe even a lost fawn beneath the little shade it provided.

What he didn’t expect was to find a _man_ laying against the tree, eyes half lidded and blood pouring steadily out of a wound in his shoulder. Peter stumbled back at the sight of his dirty and battered figure, thinking the man might already be dead if not for the short stuttering inhale that was immediately followed by a harsh coughing fit. If this stranger knew that Peter was there then he didn’t acknowledge it, but Peter got the feeling he had bigger things on his mind at the moment. Namely the unhealthy amount of blood currently _outside_ of his body from the wound on his shoulder and -now that he looked closer- a nasty cut near his temple that was leaving a trail of crimson red down his cheek.

Peter quickly snapped himself out of his stupor and knelt down next to the half-conscious man, saying cautiously “Sir… Sir can you hear me?”

When he didn’t reply Peter reached out and gripped his good shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Sir? Uh, can you feel that?”

This time a groan erupted from the man’s throat, and Peter took that as a good sign. “Okay, cool um… there’s, uh -wow, there’s a lot of blood,” Peter mumbled to himself. He could feel the panic beginning to rise in his throat but adamantly pushed it down in favour of pulling off his jacket and pressing it against the oozing wound on the man’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry of protest.

“I know -I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter muttered, desperately trying to maintain his resolve as he pushed harder against the open wound. He didn’t know much about first aid but he knew that applying pressure was the most important thing to do for excessive bleeding.

And despite his pained groans, the man didn’t try to stop him either. Probably didn’t even know what was happening considering his current state, head barely staying upright as his eyes fluttered back and forth in a daze. The mere sight made Peter’s chest ache in sympathy.

Quickly, Peter ran through what he needed to do next in his head. This man needed medical attention and fast, maybe even an ambulance at this rate. He wasn’t going to last much longer if they stayed out here in these dirty fields, but there were no phones in the house, and the town was at least a thirty-minute drive to the property from memory. At the very least Peter had to get him back to the house and try to bandage the wounds, but one look at the barely conscious stranger and he knew it would be impossible to get him to stand, let alone walk.

That left only one option. An _unpredictable_ option no less.

He’d tried it in the woods before with fallen tree trunks and small, mossy boulders, but surely it couldn’t be that much different from a human, could it?

Swallowing any doubts he had, Peter tied the jacket firmly around the man’s bleeding shoulder and positioned one arm beneath his upper back and the other underneath his legs. “Sir?” Peter spoke to check he really was as out of it as he suspected. He didn’t exactly feel like explaining what he was about to do to a complete stranger when he’d never even had the courage to tell his own father.

“Uh, if you can hear me sir, uh… don’t panic, alright?” Peter said, his tone deceivingly light. “I’m just gonna lift you up, okay? Nice and easy.”

When there was only a disoriented huff as a response, Peter took that as the go ahead sign and rose to his feet steadily, the man cradled awkwardly in his arms as he stood. He was surprised when the man that must have weighed at least eighty kilos felt lighter than a sack of flour in his hold, shifting his footing experimentally to make sure he wouldn’t fall. And when he noticed the blood-stained fabric clinging to his fingertips like glue, Peter was somewhat thankful for one of the lesser known powers he had acquired: a strange ability to stick to anything and everything.

Now, certain that the man was secure in his arms, Peter began sprinting towards the house at lightning speed, a plan already formulating as he ran down the driveway. He would patch the man’s wounds as best as he could and do everything in his power keep him alive, and when Beck got home in the afternoon then he would beg his father to call an ambulance for the stranger and hope he wasn’t in a bad mood. There was no good reason for Beck to deny him so, but still, he could never be too certain when it came to his father’s decisions.

A weak mumble escaped the man’s lungs as Peter reached the front porch, manoeuvring his way through the thankfully open doorway and making sure not to hit the man’s head on the way up the stairs. It was a cumbersome task for sure, but Peter was determined to keep this stranger alive.

If he did nothing else in his life, he hoped this would be the one thing he succeeded in.

So pushing through the door to his bedroom, Peter quickly lowered the still incoherent man onto his bed and began rushing around the house like a loose tornado of deadly concentration. He was down-stairs and dragging the first aid box out of the kitchen cupboard in the flash of an eye, returning to his room with the kit, some old but clean towels and a bottle of water in record time. It wasn’t much, but he could do the best with what he had.

Peter’s biggest concern was the bleeding shoulder, and judging by the entry and exit wound he found when he peeled the ruined jacket away, he could only guess that it was caused by a bullet of some kind. He needed to stop the blood-flow if the man was going to survive, but as he rummaged through the first aid he realised in horror that there was hardly any dressing left in the kit. It wouldn’t be enough for the amount of blood still flowing from the injury, and Peter could feel his time slipping away rapidly as he stared down at the almost depleted roll of bandages in his hands.

But like lightning, his mind was struck with an idea and he scrambled for his wardrobe, almost ripping the door off its hinges as he lunged for the neatly packed vials and mechanics sitting in the corner. Slapping the metal bands on his wrists, Peter began to say shakily “Alright sir, this is going to feel a bit strange for a moment, but it’ll stop the bleeding in no time, alright? I’ve tested it before so don’t worry… then again, my healing goes a lot faster than yours so…”

Shaking himself out of his rambling, Peter clipped one of the vials of formula into the gadget on his arm and returned to the man’s side, figuring there was no better trial for the new dispensers he’d created than on a man who was bleeding to death.

 _Not the time to joke Peter,_ he scolded himself mentally, but hardened his resolve regardless.

The man was almost completely out of it at this point, so Peter met no resistance as he reached over to the wounded shoulder and pressed down the mechanism against his palm. A spray of fine, white strings shot out of the wrist dispenser and began to seal over the open gash within seconds, creating a strong layer that would stanch the blood for at least three hours. Long enough for the blood to clot, Peter hoped.

Once he was certain that the wound was properly covered in the webbing, he carefully shifted the man onto his side and repeated the process for the second opening, taking care to make sure that no blood was seeping through either patch in the moments that followed. When five minutes passed without even a speck of blood seeping through the thick webbing, Peter released a tense breath and sagged down to the floor with his back resting against the side of the mattress. The adrenaline was starting to fade now but he could still feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a bird trying to frantically escape its cage.

“That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done,” Peter declared to no one in particular. He gripped the metal around his wrists tightly, first in awe, then in _pride_. He knew the formula worked -he’d tested it on himself on multiple occasions- but to have functioning dispensers that he’d mangled together from scrap metals, frayed wires and a broken toaster, well… he couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased with his handiwork.

And for a moment, there was quiet. A moment to rest.

But at the sight of the blood-soaked jacket that was now discarded on the floor like a filthy rag, Peter was quickly drawn back into reality. He might have fixed the biggest issue for now, but this stranger -whoever the hell he was- still had a plethora of other injuries marring his body, demanding attention and assistance. And with no one else available, the responsibility fell on Peter to make sure that he survived.

So dragging the first aid kit back over with a sigh, Peter found himself smiling up weakly at the unconscious stranger that had somehow wound up in his care, wondering what had gotten him into this state. What his story was…

Whatever it was, it was probably a whole lot more interesting than Peter’s life anyway.

“Don’t worry sir. You’ll be good as new in no time.”


	2. Daydreams turn to Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sir?”
> 
> Tony almost leapt out of his skin at the soft voice, whipping his head around to find a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him from the shadowed doorway. “Who’s there?” Tony called, keeping his expression guarded. Even if this person had saved him that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat, and with the arc reactor in his chest laying completely exposed without a shirt, he had no doubt they had figured out his identity by now. Billionaire and superhero was not usually a great reputation to have while being completely vulnerable to a stranger. 
> 
> “Sorry,” the voice spoke again as they pushed further into the room, the muted sunlight shining down to reveal their youthful face and curly brown hair. Those eyes, so gentle and warm, gazed over at Tony with concern, before the boy -a teenager, he quickly realised- offered him a smile.
> 
> “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to scare you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I'm finally back! Sorry this chapter is a week later than expected, as I was writing it the characters forcibly took control of the wheel and began steering me down a scenic route, so that was unexpected. But the good news is that it's 10K words and has a bunch of exciting things happen in it! I really hope you guys enjoy it, I'm so excited for this story!! Hope you have an awesome day!
> 
> -Superherotiger
> 
> (Trigger Warnings: Physical abuse of a child, alcoholism, swearing)

_I need to run…_

That was the first thought that drifted past Tony’s mind as he slowly crawled his way back to consciousness, the shadows that parted as he gathered his energy leaving an awfully painful ache in his bones. His senses followed shortly after his thoughts, and he heard a stiff groan fill the air as a sensation akin to fire erupted across his arm and chest, only to realise that _he_ was the one who had made the pathetic noise in the silence that followed. It took all of Tony’s strength to even pry his eyelids open, shoving through the tar that had seemingly encased his body and wondering why he felt like he’d just been dragged from hell and back.

Was he drunk? No, he couldn’t be. He’d been sober for almost three years now, swearing he’d never drink again after a particularly catastrophic attempt to drown his sorrows on the most awful day of the year:

The 10th of August.

A day that should have been filled with joy and laughter and celebrations was instead weighed down with loss and regret and _pain_. So much pain…

Just thinking about the date sent a swirl of bittersweet memories crashing into Tony’s already unsteady mind. He tried valiantly to shove them all away, refusing to feel the emotions that so desperately wanted to burst from his chest, but felt a newer memory jump back to life as he tried.

_“Are you sure you want to take this mission Tony?”_

Tony blinked, and for once allowed himself to be pulled back into the memories with the help of the captain’s steady voice.

_“Absolutely,” he’d replied. “It’s just a basic recon mission, right? Nothing Iron Man can’t handle.”_

_Steve had grimaced, holding the file just out of reach of Tony’s searching fingers as he said, “It’s not Iron Man I’m worried about.”_

_“And what’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“You know what it means Tony,” Steve glared, only for his tone to soften as he added carefully “I just… I know that August is a hard month for you...”_

_This time it was Tony who adverted his gaze, trying not to notice the way that Rhodey and Natasha had stiffened at the table and shoving down the sadness that had become his permanent companion for the past decade. “All the more reason for me to take the mission,” Tony said, cracking his jaw. “It’ll be good for me. Like a, a-“_

_“A distraction?” Steve asked incredulously._

_“A_ release _,” Tony corrected, ignoring the concerned gaze Rhodey was giving him in the corner of his eye. “I need to do something, Cap. I need to keep busy, get my mind focused on something useful. Especially now when…”_

_His words trailed off, but everyone understood the message in his silence._

_After a few more tense moments, Steve sighed heavily and offered Tony the file, which the mechanic swept up and began reading swiftly. “We believe it’s a Hydra research facility, but we need some more information before an attack can be scheduled,” the captain explained, non-too pleased about it if the creases in his brow were any indication. “We need to know their defences, weak spots, escape routes and so on.”_

_“So it’s a stakeout?”_

_“Exactly, which means no obvious suits or tech,” Steve answered sharply. “I have to warn you though, it’s a two week mission in the-“_

_“Done,” Tony said before the captain had even finished speaking. Two weeks would take him to mid-August, which means he’d be plenty busy on the dreaded anniversary that always seemed to approach like a road-train on the horizon, ready to mow him over every single time. Call it whatever you wished: a mission, a distraction, a release. For Tony, this assignment was a godsend._

_“I’ll see you all in two weeks,” Tony said as he shut the folder in his hand with a satisfying snap. “Don’t go having any crazy parties while I’m gone-“_

_“Tony.”_

_The man hesitated on his way to the door, knowing he could never ignore his best friend but so tempted to just leave while he still had the chance. Slowly, Tony glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Rhodey, feeling those deep brown eyes staring into the emptiness of his soul like he was made of glass._

_For one terrifying moment he thought he might say it. Might tear the great Tony Stark down to a sobbing mess with a single name._

_But after offering a sympathetic smile, Rhodey just nodded and said with all the care he could imbue into his voice “Be careful Tones.”_

_Tony’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief. “Don’t worry platypus, it’s just a recon mission anyway. How hard could it be?”_

Very hard, apparently.

Because on the fifth day of his stakeout when the sun had barely edged over the horizon, he was met with a Hydra patrol squad sweeping through his supposed _‘safe house’_ , being forced to make a run for it since he was not only lacking a suit of armour but all the minimal tech that he had left downstairs the night before. He’d jumped out of the second story window with nothing but the clothes on his back and sprinted for the nearby pine forest bordering the property to escape. There hadn’t even been time to send an alert to the other Avengers before gunshots began raining through the air, just managing to disappear into the trees as bullets whizzed by at an alarming rate.

What happened after that became a bit of a blur. He remembered running like hell, terrified of the gunfire that seemed to be hunting him down like a pack of hungry predators chasing down their prey. He thought there might have been blood on his shirt, on his hands, on the bark of the trees as he stumbled towards safety, and he remembered falling too- no, tripping over a rocky slope and slamming his head on a particularly jagged boulder on the way down. He must have continued to move though because the next thing he remembered he was trekking through a paddock of gold, red paint staining the grass as he passed. He remembered seeing a dead tree and thinking that he would sit down -just for a moment- to regain his strength. Maybe his balance too since he seemed to be listing to the side with every step he took like a rowboat in the middle of a storm.

It would just be a short break, barely even a minute, he told himself.

But as his mind finally seemed to kick into gear, he realised quickly that he was, in fact, _not_ lying in a field anymore, and that the surface that should have been dirt and grass beneath him was actually a mattress. Cheap, uncomfortable, and springy, but a mattress nonetheless.

Cracking his eyes open again, Tony’s sluggish brain registered the pale grey roof above his head and what looked like an old, ragged Star Wars poster on the wall to his left. He could feel the soft fabric of a blanket as he twitched his fingers and winced at the stab of pain that spiralled up his arm in response. When he turned his head he was met with a series of action-figures sitting at the edge of the bedside table, chipped from years of use and obviously cared for dearly.

Not the typical Hydra jail cell, so that was a good sign.

With his shoulder aching and bones creaking and mind still spinning like a top, Tony dragged himself to sit up and take stock of whatever strange, nerdy world he had somehow landed himself in. Warm afternoon sunlight poured in from the window to the right and cast the room into an inviting, comfy haze. Books with fraying edges were lined up neatly on a bookshelf and a scarce collection of toys were stacked up on the shelf below. A modest wooden wardrobe covered in what looked like newspaper clippings and photographs stood in the corner of the room, and though it was obviously a child’s bedroom based on the figurines and posters, he was surprised by how clean everything was. Neat. Orderly. Not even a speck of dust on any surface.

Tony couldn’t explain why it sent his nerves on edge, but he found himself tugging the blanket higher up his bare chest and fighting off a shiver anyway.

It was only now that he registered the state of his own body, and compared to the pristine room he sat in, he found he was anything but in perfect shape. Bruises trailed up his side from the earlier tumble and his right ankle was swollen and throbbing from where he had -less than gracefully- hit the ground after jumping down from the second story window. Whoever had found him had at least laid an ice pack over it, but it felt like a pinch compared to his left shoulder which burned and ached in an unfortunately familiar fashion.

 _I need to stop getting shot so much,_ Tony thought grimly as he inspected the torn-up rags covering the wound. It was fairly basic, but to his pleasant surprise it didn’t look like there was any blood seeping into the cloth either.

Prodding the bandage with his fingers, Tony instantly regretted the action as hot, fiery pain laced up from his arm again. “Don’t take the suit they said…” Tony hissed under his breath. “It’ll be fine they said…”

“Sir?”

Tony almost leapt out of his skin at the soft voice, whipping his head around to find a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him from the shadowed doorway. “Who’s there?” Tony called, keeping his expression guarded. Even if this person had saved him that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat, and with the arc reactor in his chest laying completely exposed without a shirt, he had no doubt they had figured out his identity by now. Billionaire and superhero was not usually a great reputation to have while being completely vulnerable to a stranger.

“Sorry,” the voice spoke again as they pushed further into the room, the muted sunlight shining down to reveal their youthful face and curly brown hair. Those eyes, so gentle and warm, gazed over at Tony with concern, before the boy -a teenager, he quickly realised- offered him a smile.

“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said sheepishly.

Tony blinked in surprise but was quick to collect himself. “No harm done,” he said, wincing at another painful tug in his muscles as he asked, “I’m assuming you’re my knight in less-than-shining armour then, huh?”

“Something like that,” the boy chuckled as he scratched at his neck bashfully. “I found you by the dead tree in the field. You were bleeding pretty badly, but- um, I ran out of bandages, so I tried my best to wrap it with old cloth instead. I, uh… I hope it’s alright.”

“It’s great kid. Couldn’t have done a better job myself,” he assured, lightly inspecting the rags.

He didn’t notice the way the boy stiffened; how his eyes grew wide at the praise or how his smile beamed wide in response. And by the time Tony’s eyes lifted back to the teenager he was already moving towards the door and rambling about something at a speed that was surely incapable for humans to achieve. His youthful voice continued to echo down the hallway as he disappeared out of the room, and Tony found himself smiling at the innocent crack of his voice that interspersed each rapid sentence.

Tony assumed that he was going to get his parents or guardian now that he was awake, but he was surprised when the teenager returned balancing a tray of food on one hand and some clean clothes in the other. “Sorry- sorry,” he stuttered, shaking his head and sending his curls swaying wildly. “You’re probably starving. I made some, uh- some soup earlier. I wasn’t sure when you were gonna wake up, but it’s hot so-“

The words continued to tumble out as he set the tray down on the bedside table and offered the clothes -an old flannel shirt and accompanying black jacket- out to Tony, who was just watching him with a tired but amused look on his face. “These are my dad’s winter clothes,” the boy explained, finally slowing his speech enough for it to be understood. “I tried to salvage your other shirt but there was way too much blood. Like, it was _soaked_ -“

Tony waved off the inevitable apology and took the clothes from his hands, relieved when he was able to cover the distinctive glow of the arc reactor with layers of warm fabric. He was a little surprised though that the boy hadn’t mentioned it yet. No shock. No horror. Just talking to him excitedly like he was any other person.

Tony had to admit, it was a nice change from the deranged villains he would usually wake up to in these kinds of situations.

“Sorry, I’m uh- I’m rambling again…” the boy said, suddenly looking timid, before placing the tray carefully at Tony’s side. There was hot, steaming soup poured into a bowl and some squares of plain toast resting on a plate beside it, and much like the chipped figurines on the table or the bandage of rags around his arm, it was simple but… thoughtful. Done with the upmost care.

Tony flashed a grateful smile to the boy and took hold of the soup, feeling pretty confident that he wasn’t about to get poisoned by the awkward, rambling child standing before him.

“Sorry if it tastes bad,” the teen rushed to say as he wrung his hands together nervously. “My dad says I’m not really good at making soup, but I- uh, I read a thing once about giving sick people soup when they were sick, so…”

Instead of replying to his anxious stuttering, Tony just lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth and resolved to decide for himself. He took a bite and-

“Holy shit…”

The boy winced at Tony’s murmur, asking softly “It’s that bad, huh?”

“No,” Tony shook his head, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth in awe before adding “It’s good. Like, _really_ good, kid.”

For the first time since meeting each other, the boy was rendered speechless.

And feeling an old instinct flicker back to life like a flame, Tony went on to assure him, “Honestly kid, it’s great. You’re a natural chef.”

“You really think so…?” he asked, his breath catching in disbelief.

Tony’s heart ached at the hopefulness in his bright, young eyes. Did he honestly think his cooking was that bad? Was he aware that most teenagers didn’t even know how to make a soup, let alone a good one? And what kind of father would be so cold as to tell their kid straight up that they were bad at cooking instead of trying to teach them?

Bitterness coiled up in Tony’s guts like a python strangling its prey, resenting the fact that he never got to teach his own son to cook. Never got to praise him. Never got to see him grow up…

“Your father obviously has no taste if he thinks this isn’t good,” Tony scoffed before he could stop himself, realising he had already devoured half the bowl in the midst of his spiralling thoughts.

The boy, who had taken a seat at the end of the bed, ducked his head with a somewhat cautious chuckle, saying “Yeah, well… I haven’t made it in a couple of years. I never really tried again after, uh…” He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Guess I finally got it right this time, hah…”

Tony narrowed his eyes a little, sensing something more to that comment but not wishing to pry. He’d barely known this kid for five minutes and somehow his instincts were calling out to him in a way they hadn’t for many, many years.

_He’s not yours though…_

_He’s not James…_

Tony shoved those thoughts far down into the crevices of his mind, glancing up at the boy and asking lightly “Got a name kid?”

“Um… Peter, sir,” the teen smiled. “Peter Beck.”

“Well, ‘ _Um, Peter’_ , it’s nice to meet you,” Tony said, earning a sincere laugh out of the boy.

“Sorry, we don’t get many visitors out here,” Peter explained. “I’m a little rusty with my conversation skills.”

“Eh, you’re doing fine,” Tony said, finishing the rest of his meal and choosing to brush off the fact that he wasn’t technically a _‘visitor’_ but an unfortunate passerby.

“I, uh… I never got your name,” Peter said after a few moments of silence.

Now that was a surprise. Tony glanced up quizzically to see if the teen was just messing with him or maybe even just trying to be polite, but Peter’s expression was nothing if not sincere, and Tony found the snarky reply waiting on the tip of his tongue dissipating in an instant. “Tony Stark,” he answered, watching to see if the name would spark any recognition.

Obviously it did not if the kind, completely unaware smile that Peter gave him was any indication. “Nice to meet you Mr Stark…” He paused, before adding teasingly “Now that you’re not dying and all that.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me kid,” Tony scoffed. “So how bad was it? Give me the damage report.”

Peter smirked as he leant back against the wall, saying casually “Where should I begin? Bleeding shoulder, head wound, swollen ankle, and bruises and scratches to last a lifetime.”

Shrugging, Tony mumbled “Not the worst I’ve had before…”

“Can I ask what lead to such a laundry list of injuries?” Peter asked.

“Sorry, that’s confidential,” Tony mused, causing Peter’s eyes to widen slightly.

“Are… are you are a spy?”

“Not exactly,” Tony said. “But I am on a mission, yes.”

Those big eyes were now racing with electricity as he asked, “Is it an important one? Like… Like Luke Skywalker blowing up the Death Star important?”

“Oh yeah, very important,” Tony said, stifling a laugh at the teen’s nerdy streak finally making an appearance. “So, big Star Wars fan huh?”

If he thought Peter’s eyes were bright before, then it was like the sun had just appeared from behind a stormy cloud as he grinned back at Tony. “Oh definitely!” he beamed, sitting up from the wall to swing his hands around excitedly. “I only get to watch them when Dad brings the TV down for movie night but I’ve watched the whole trilogy a hundred times!”

Tony felt himself smiling again -god, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d smiled this much- as Peter continued to ramble about the nuances of Star Wars and why it was his favourite franchise. It seemed he’d opened the floodgates because the words were flowing out of Peter so quickly you would think he’d lose his voice forever if he stopped. Tony just watched, and smiled, and ate his soup with little interruption, enjoying the way the teen would use his hands as well as his voice to emphasise a point, or how his nose would scrunch up slightly when he criticised something.

As he placed the now empty bowl back onto the tray, Tony tried not to think about his own son as his looked at Peter. Tried not to wonder if James would have looked the same way when telling him something he was excited about, something that he loved.

Just like always, those painful memories resurfaced.

And just like always, Tony shoved them right back down.

When Peter’s tirade had finally begun to slow, the man quickly dragged himself out of the little carefree bubble that he’d found himself in and asked instead “Hey kid, you got a phone I could borrow?”

Regret washed over the teen’s once joyous expression so fast it was actually frightening. “Sorry Mr Stark. My dad’s the only one with a phone and he doesn’t get back until the afternoon.”

“Geez, a teenager with no phone, who’d have thought,” Tony said glumly. “Alright then. Any neighbours nearby?”

Again, Peter shook his head. “We’re thirty minutes out of town.”

“Well how are you supposed to contact your dad if you need help?”

Peter looked puzzled at that, saying as if it were obvious “He’s working though. I don’t bother him while he’s working.”

Tony stiffened.

_Can’t you see I’m working Anthony? Get the hell out!_

“But if you’re in an emergency…” Tony said, his mind still caught up in long lost memories. “What are you supposed to do if you’re hurt?”

Peter shrugged, picking at flecks of dried blood from his nails to distract himself. “I wait for him to get home…”

A cold wind swept over Tony as he stared at the boy that was once filled with so much light and joy and excitement mere moments ago. Now all he could see was an emptiness in the depths of Peter’s brown eyes, and the tension in his shoulders, and the way his jaw clenched as the silence continued to drag.

 _Something’s wrong,_ his instincts whispered. _You know there’s something wrong here…_

But before Tony could try and figure it out, Peter seemed to find his own resolve as he stood up from the bed and said reassuringly “Don’t worry Mr Stark, as soon as my dad gets home I’m going to ask him to call an ambulance or take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital kid,” Tony replied, aware that he was diverting the subject but figuring there would be time to investigate later. “I just need to call a friend of mine back in New York to let him know I’m alive and all that.”

Peter’s eyes widened in that familiar and oh so missed awe. “Did you say New York?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sure did.”

“Have you been there?” he pressed, before shaking his head and amending quickly “I mean, of course you have, your friend’s there. I meant, um… is, is it as big as they say it is?”

Tony wasn’t sure if he should be amused or concerned by the sudden flood of interest, replying casually “Yeah, it is a major city after all-“

“And are there really massive skyscrapers like in the pictures?” Peter said as he slowly lowered himself to sit back on the edge of the bed, completely enraptured with every word that Tony spoke.

Seeing his opportunity, Tony smirked and said “Sure do kid. I _live_ in one of them.”

“No way!”

“Yep. Stark Tower, owned by yours truly,” Tony said with a grand gesture of his arms, only to curse when his shoulder retaliated in agony.

“Oh gosh, so you’re like, super rich then aren’t you?” Peter muttered, even as he leant down and pulled a first aid kid out from under the bed. “I’m so sorry Mr Stark, I didn’t mean to ramble about Star Wars for so long. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of better things to do then-“

“It’s fine kid,” Tony immediately hushed him. “It was nice talking to someone like a normal person for once. Feel free to keep doing it too, I _am_ still human at the end of the day.”

Peter smiled up at him warmly, checks a little red from both embarrassment and excitement, before he gestured to Tony’s shoulder and said, “I probably need to replace the wrapping soon.”

“It looked pretty sealed to me,” Tony replied cautiously.

“Yeah, but it’ll dissolve in another ten minutes or so.”

“Hate to break it to you kid, but cloth actually doesn’t dissolve,” Tony said with a slightly teasing tone.

Suddenly Peter looked nervous, wringing his hands together again and scratching at something beneath the wrist of his hoodie as he murmured “No… but, uh… the chemical solution I put over it will.”

“You _what?_ ”

Peter immediately threw his hands up in a peaceful gesture, saying swiftly “It’s completely harmless! It’s just a web-like substance that seals and stanches a bleeding wound for three hours, that’s all!”

But Tony was already tearing his jacket off and pushing the edge of his flannel shirt to the side to get a better view of his injured shoulder, not wanting to relive his experience with the arc reactor again even if every bone in his body was screaming that Peter would never do such a thing. Said teenager was still stumbling over his words in an attempt to calm him, but Tony was purely focused on peeling away the make-shift bandages to reveal some kind of white, dry patch lying beneath it. The formation of the patch resembled that of a thick spider web, and when Tony ran his fingers over it he was surprised that the frail-looking strings held up against the pressure.

“What’s it made of?” the man asked, less out of fear and more out of curiosity now.

Peter listed off all the ingredients in a nervous stutter and Tony just nodded along as he mentioned more and more stable, non-threatening chemicals. Finally, when he was satisfied that Peter had not tried to kill him with some kind of biological weapon, he leant back against the wall with a sigh and marvelled instead at the boy’s clever handiwork.

Peter, in his rush to assure the man that it was completely safe, dragged on old leather journal out of his wardrobe and brought it over to him, showing the formula that he used written down amongst the pages and handing the book over when Tony reached out for it. It only took a brief scan of the pages to realise that the kind, nerdy teenager that had miraculously saved him was also, as it turns out, a _genius_.

“I’m impressed,” Tony said, whistling to re-enforce his amazement. “This is some pretty advanced stuff, and the tensile strength of your formula is off the charts kid.”

Peter seemed stunned by his words at first, before answering sheepishly “It took a lot of tweaking, but- but it’s completely safe, I promise.”

Tony nodded along, asking “You said it dissolves after three hours?”

“Yeah, I -um, I haven’t been able to figure out how to extend or shorten it yet.”

“Don’t need to if you can make a dissolvent for it instead,” Tony suggested as he handed the book back to the jittery teen.

“Oh man, I… I didn’t even think about that,” Peter muttered, staring down at his notes scrutinisingly as the gears began turning in his head. “Yeah… yeah! Oh gosh, that’s a heaps better idea! Then it doesn’t matter when they dissolve because you can just remove and re-apply them before it happens!”

Tony smiled at Peter’s seemingly never-ending excitement, admiring the wonder he still held for the world and the future. Such an innocent spirit was a rare thing these days, usually lost through trauma or trampled by reality. But here, in the middle of damn nowhere, Tony had somehow managed to find one of the few rays of hope left on this whole godforsaken planet.

Maybe his mission hadn’t been such a bust after all…

After Peter had scribbled down the beginnings of his new dissolvent formula -with a few tips from Tony here and there-, the two spent the next ten minutes throwing ideas back and forth and adding a new layer of the webbing to Tony’s shoulder when the old one began to fall apart. Tony praised the boy for his ingenious wrist dispensers and found himself genuinely laughing when Peter told him about all the scrap materials he’d used to make them, the rest of the world seeming to fall away as they spiralled into discussions about engineering and chemistry and New York shortly after. Peter began to bandage his shoulder again as they spoke, but this time it was just a precaution since the bleeding had considerably slowly thanks to his formula.

“So, what are you going to sell it as?” Tony asked when Peter was packing away the first aid and vials of formula back under the bed.

“For medical stuff, hopefully,” Peter explained humbly. “Ambulances, hospitals, first aid maybe… I just wanna be able to _help_ people, you know?”

A pang of understanding hit Tony’s heart at the boy’s awfully mature answer, and he just knew in that moment that this kid was going to do great things someday. If he had the chance to spread his wings, Tony had no doubt that he would soar above everyone else.

“That’s really good of you kid,” Tony said with a weak smile, his energy depleted after so much talking and moving and planning.

Peter seemed to realise this though as he rose back to his feet with the empty bowl and tray in hand, flashing the man a comforting smile of his own as he said “You should probably rest Mr Stark. I’ll wake you up when my dad gets home and then- then you can call whoever you need to okay?”

A warm flutter passed through Tony’s chest as he lowered himself to lie back down in the bed. “Thanks kid,” he mumbled hoarsely. “I owe you one for saving my sorry ass.”

“Well, you helped me with my formula,” he reasoned. “So how about we call it even?”

The last thing Tony saw before his eyes slid shut from exhaustion was Peter’s soft smile, his striking brown eyes as warm as the summer sunshine. And for the first time in years, Tony didn’t fall asleep feeling as empty inside.

“You got it kid…”

* * *

**…**

* * *

When Tony woke up next, he knew that something was off.

Blood orange rays of sunlight were painted across the walls and fading quickly as he opened his eyes, his shoulder now stiff and aching instead of the enraged fire it had been earlier. It didn’t take long for Peter to return to the room, but unlike the uncontainable ball of energy he’d been before, he was quiet and skittish as he brought in a plate of freshly cooked stir-fry and placed it on the bedside table. Tony asked if he was alright but the teenager just nodded stiffly, turning to gaze out the window and the rapidly setting sun before disappearing back downstairs again without another word.

When Peter returned about five minutes later, it was with a bowl of his own dinner and a somewhat forced smile. “Uh, sorry about that Mr Stark, I just… I got lost in thought…” he said while taking a seat on a nearby stool.

“Anything I can do to help?” Tony asked, genuinely concerned for his new-found friend.

Peter’s expression became blank as the last lines of sunlight fell behind the horizon, the shallows of his eyes appearing almost haunted in the shadows. “My dad is usually home by now…” he said, his voice void of emotion as he turned the lamp on and started to eat, as if that would somehow put Tony’s racing mind at ease. Something told him not to pry though; at least not yet. Not when Peter looked like he’d checked out to another planet by now.

And so they ate in silence, Tony growing more and more concerned for the unusually reserved teenager as more shimmering stars began dotting the sky beyond the window. He tried to start conversations with the boy, mentioning robotics and chemistry and engineering and everything that had brought him so much joy before, but to no avail. Finally though, as they both neared the end of their meals, Tony brought up New York again, and Peter glanced up at him with wide, wary eyes.

“Can you… Can you tell me about it please?” he’d asked in a whisper, the first full sentence he’d spoken since they’d started eating.

Tony was quick to oblige, dredging up every fantastical and mundane story he could think of about the city he called home until the tension in Peter’s shoulders began to slack, his eyes clearing back into that warm, chocolate gaze the longer he spoke. And since Peter hadn’t known about his infamous reputation earlier Tony decided to steer clear of any superhero or alien stories for now too, wondering in the back of his mind how much the boy truly knew of the world outside his little home. Gradually he began to ask Tony questions and chuckle at his jokes and smile at his voice like before, and it was almost like the world had shifted back into place.

Tony couldn’t explain why his own chest suddenly felt a thousand times lighter in response, but before long Peter was sitting at the end of the bed again with his journal out and pencil at the ready, sketching down the city streets and skyscrapers that Tony continued to describe and eventually divulging back into new gadgets and formulas scribbled along the pages. It didn’t bother Tony. In fact, he was utterly relieved to see that the teenager he’d grown so fond of was returning back to his usual, bubbly self. And if all he had to do was retell dumb stories about subways and taxis and alleyways to keep that darkness out of his eyes, then god, he’d do it all day long.

Time slipped by again as the two conversed throughout the evening and enjoyed the light company that seemed to be keeping both of them grounded. After clearing the empty plates away and receiving yet another round of praise from Tony for his great cooking, Peter got to work replacing the webbing on Tony’s shoulder and bantering about who the best Star Wars character was.

“But Han Solo’s got everything going for him,” Tony reasoned playfully. “Good looking, rich girlfriend, loveable best friend-“

“And he’s also a _scoundrel_ ,” Peter replied with a smile of his own, tying the bandages back over the sealed wound as he retorted “Luke is a hero _and_ a Jedi Knight! You can’t get much better than that.”

“Han is literally the space equivalent of a cowboy. He wins, straight up.”

“Ego doesn’t equal value, Mr Stark,” Peter said as he shot Tony a mischievous glare. “I thought you would have known that, Mr _I-Live-In-A-Skyscraper_.”

Tony’s uninjured arm lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “What’s the point of having money if you don’t get to flaunt it, huh?”

Peter just rolled his eyes in typical teenage fashion before packing away the first aid kit again, saying “All done Mr Stark.”

“Thanks kid.”

“No problem,” he smiled, glancing back over his journal with a proud glint in his eye, so much brighter than they had been barely an hour beforehand.

Remembering the emptiness he’d witnessed in Peter’s young face, Tony’s expression softened as he asked, “Hey kid, you sure you’re alright?”

He looked startled at first, blinking up at the man as if he’d forgotten he was there, before nodding his head weakly. “Yeah Mr Stark, I’m fine. I just… I feel bad that you can’t call your friend yet,” he admitted with a sigh.

“It’s fine kid, really,” Tony assured. “Stop worrying your little head over it and focus on something better, like all those great ideas you’ve scribbled down in that book, yeah?”

After a few moments of hesitation, Peter finally nodded, not quite finished feeling guilty but obviously not keen to fight Tony over it either. Instead, he pulled out his chemistry kit and got to work on his new and improved dissolvent, seeking Tony’s advice as he worked until the man was forced to lie down again with a tired groan. Peter assured him that it was fine, that he could figure it out no problem, and that _“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you if something goes wrong, I promise.”_

Tony had a feeling that was a lie, but he was too exhausted to argue with the teen at this point, staring out at the blanket of stars outside the window and listening to Peter’s soft mumblings until he eventually fell back into the slumber.

When Tony woke up next, he knew that something was _definitely_ wrong.

It was Peter’s gasp that had him jolting back to reality, sitting up and blinking wildly until his eyes finally focused on the boy sitting across the room. The lamp was still on, and if the unkempt look of Peter’s hair was any indication, the boy must have fallen asleep on the floor during his experiments at some point, sleep crusting his now wide-blown eyes as he pressed his hands against his neck anxiously. The hairs on his arms were standing up straight despite the air being a little warmer than room temperature.

“No.”

Another flare of alarm set off at Peter’s quiet murmur.

“Kid?” Tony asked firmly, shoving the blankets away and turning to stare it the teen more directly. “Are you alright?”

Peter didn’t seem to hear him though, scrambling to his feet and throwing the window open with a wild look in his eyes.

“You’re starting to freak me out kid,” Tony said. “Is this some kind of night-walking to the extreme or-“

He was cut off by an abrupt “ _Shh!_ ” from Peter, his head tilted towards the outside as cool air began drifting into the room. Tony considered a retort, but he’d never seen the teen this anxious before, so he decided not to push it. Maybe he’d heard something outside. A fox or a bear or something that he needed to be aware of.

But in the silence, that’s when Tony heard it.

Car tires.

 _Screeching_ car tires, growing louder and louder-

Peter suddenly slammed the window shut and twirled around to Tony with an almost unnoticeable gasp, as if he’d just seen a ghost and didn’t know where to run first. Tony wanted to ask what was wrong, if he was in danger, _how could he help,_ but then Peter started heading towards the door with a determined stride and collected expression. A picture of pure confidence.

Tony almost believed it too if it weren’t for the violent tremor running down his hands.

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark I- I just… I need you to wait here for a minute,” Peter said hurriedly. _Panicked_. “And what- whatever happens, don’t say anything okay? You can’t- can’t make a sound!”

Tony’s voice grew dangerously stern as he said “Kid, you better tell me what the hell is going on right now because I’m not a big fan of surprises.”

Peter shook his head stubbornly and opened up the door, refusing to meet his eye.

In an attempt to stop him, Tony went to stand and was immediately met with a protest from his sprained ankle, falling back onto the bed with a groan and being forced to watch as the teen stepped into the hallway. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed when Peter went to close the door behind him. “You hear me kid? Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to face it alone. Let me _help you_.”

Half concealed in shadows, Peter’s lips turned down into a grimace as he hesitated at the doorway. “I’m sorry Mr Stark,” he murmured, his eyes glazing over eerily like they had earlier. “Just please stay quiet…”

And with that, he was gone.

The door shut with a resolute click and Tony was almost tempted to call out for him, but the screech of tires and the roar of an engine arriving outside was quick to change his mind. The peaceful atmosphere that the fields had maintained was broken in an instant as the mechanical growl echoed into the night, the sound of rushed footsteps descending down the stairs from the other side of the doorway following shortly after.

Whatever was happening, it was anything but good. But worst of all was that it was about to happen to _Peter_.

The voice that had been whispering _“Something’s wrong, something’s wrong,”_ before was now screaming _“HE’S IN DANGER HE’S IN DANGER!”_ at full speed, and Tony forced himself back onto shaky legs -being sure to avoid his injured one- and hobbled over towards the closed window.

Peering through the darkness, Tony quickly caught sight of the sapphire blue Ranger that had skidded to a halt at the front yard, watching as the door swung open and allowed a man to stumble out of the driver’s seat a moment later. There was the clang of glass as the figure gripped onto the edge of the door for support and hurled into the grass, his horrible retches even audible from all the way over here. It was a little hard to see his face from this angle, but Tony could see there was a bottle clutched in his hand as he swayed his way over to the front porch dazedly.

Tony’s nerves were on fire with dread as the warning alarms became blaring sirens.

_Tell me it’s not Peter’s father. Tell me it’s not Peter’s father. Tell me it’s not-_

“Dad!”

Tony’s blood went cold at the sound of Peter’s voice drifting up through the floorboards, dragging himself closer towards the door instead of the window as the drunk man disappeared behind the veranda. He had only just leant against the doorframe with a huff when he heard a new voice echo from downstairs, though what he heard only proved to strengthen his fear, not soothe it.

“Wha- What the fuck is that on the floor, huh?”

The voice was slurred at the edges but as cold as ice, and Tony could practically envision Peter’s doe eyes widening in shock and panic.

“I’m- I’m sorry Dad, I had a, a nose bleed earlier and-“

“Ugh! You got it on the fucking carpet!” the voice scowled. “Do you have an-any idea much it’ll cost to clean that shit?!”

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-“

Tony’s heart ached at the boy’s wavering voice, only for an anger so powerful it could wipe out an entire planet to flood his system as the man -Peter’s _father_ \- began shouting “You’re such a useless piece of shit, you know that? I pay for all your clothes, all your food, all your dumb little projects and this is how you re- repay me? By bleeding all over the _fucking carpet!_ ”

“I t-tried to clean it, but- but-“

“Lemme guess, you fucked that up too. Just like you always do, huh?” Their voices began to move, still below but closer to the stairs now. It only made the tremble of Peter’s voice that much more devastating.

“It… It was an accident…”

The man’s voice was as sharp as a blade as he spat “ _You’re_ a god damn accident.”

_Hell. Fucking. No._

No matter what the kid had said, Tony Stark was not going to sit by and let Peter -kind, generous, intelligent Peter- endure this utter bullshit. The mere thought of a father saying such awful things to their child let alone actually _hearing it_ enraged Tony in a way that no monotonous board meeting or Avengers debrief could. Suddenly there was a fire burning in his chest, and for once, he was ready to let it out. Ready for it to burn down this piece of human garbage and save Peter from the ashes, just like someone should have done a long time ago.

But the moment he turned the door handle he was met with a sudden resistance and the door remained planted firmly in position. “No…” Tony muttered as his hands began searching for the locking mechanism only to find nothing but smooth metal beneath his fingertips. Because the door, the one thing currently holding Tony away from saving an endangered child, had been locked from the _outside_.

Horror gripped Tony’s lungs as he tested the handle again and pushed against the stubborn frame and asked himself furiously _what kind of door would lock from the outside?!_

 _The ones that keep abused children inside,_ his mind replied unhelpfully.

Damnit. _Damnit_! Peter had locked him in, probably knowing that he would have tried to intervene when he realised what was happening. God, it was no wonder the boy had been acting so skittish in the afternoon if this is what he knew was going to happen. The thought that Peter had prepared for this moment though almost scared Tony more, and he began looking around the room in search of anything to pick the lock with as the shouts continued to rumble from downstairs.

“Where-… where the hell is dinner?”

 _It’s the middle of the night, jackass, cook your own food,_ Tony thought bitterly as he staggered towards the wardrobe.

“I… I didn’t think you were going to- to be home tonight-“

“Yeah? Well you thought fucking _wrong_.”

Tony’s hands ripped open the small toolbox inside the wardrobe as he heard Peter say shakily “I’ll- I’ll heat it back up...”

“I don’t want heated up _shit_.”

“It’s, um- it’s your favourite though… I made… I made it for you…”

_Oh Peter, you don’t deserve this…_

“Well then, what the hell are you waiting for?” the man snarled, so heartless and cruel and enraging to the billionaire listening from upstairs.

Screwdriver in hand, Tony rushed back to doorway as fast as he could with his sprained ankle and got ready to either unlock or break the handle entirely in his frustration. He hadn’t quite decided yet, preferably wanting to save as much anger as possible for the douchebag waiting below.

But then, to Tony’s horror, things went from bad to worse.

There was some more grumbling from the deeper voice. A hiss of a fridge opening. And then, ever so faintly, a sarcastically pitched mumble filling the air.

“What the _fuck_ did you just say?”

Tony felt his blood go cold at the man’s harsh growl, hurrying to release the lock on the door with a sudden flood of adrenaline.

“I-…I…” That was Peter stumbling now, his voice near _petrified_. “I didn’t say anything, I just-“

The sound that followed next was almost like thunder in the otherwise silent household, and Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach in an instant as he remembered all the times that Howard had backhanded him in his teenage years.

_No, it can’t… not to the kid…_

“Lie to me again. Go on, do it,” the man’s voice was practically dripping with venom. “Come on. _Say it!_ ”

“D-Dad I-“

This time there was a thud, enough for the vibrations to travel up the floorboards and snap Tony out of his own torment and focus on saving Peter from his instead. He considered yelling out and dragging the man’s attention away from the boy, but he didn’t want to risk losing a fight in his current condition and possibly leading to something worse for Peter as a result. At least if he could sneak down quietly he’d have the element of surprise, and then all he would need was a well-timed punch to render the drunken man unconscious.

So, with the threads of a plan beginning to weave themselves together, Tony bit his tongue from trying to call out and worked harder to release the locked door.

 _Come on, come on! You gotta save this kid, you_ have _to protect this kid-_

“Say it again.”

“I di-didn’t mea-“

Another thud. A muffled cry.

“Say it again!”

“’M so-sorr-“

Thud. Cry. Whimpering.

_God, please no…_

“Say it!”

If Peter said anything it was drowned out by the symphony of shattering glass that shook the house, the man screaming “Lie to me again Peter! Do it! You know what’ll happen if you do!”

Heartbreaking, muffled sobs were the only reply, and Tony could feel the sweat forming on his hands when he realised the lock was only moments away from breaking open.

_Just another few seconds, come on…_

“That’s what I thought,” the man sneered, heavy footsteps echoing towards the stairs as he called back coldly, “And clean that shit up!”

All the muscles in Tony’s body tensed up when the pounding of the floorboards reached the other side of the door -ready to punch this bastard in the face as soon as the opportunity arose-, only for them to continue down the hallway and disappear with a final, foundation-shaking slam of a door. On one hand, Tony wished he’d had the chance to give that faceless monster a taste of his own medicine, but on the other hand he knew that Peter was more important. Even if he hadn’t been able to stop it, Peter was in desperate need of help right now, and Tony was the only person left who could give it to him.

So, carefully jimmying the door so not to make a sound, his shoulders sagged in relief when the lock finally released, the soft _click_ sounding like music to his ears compared to the horrors he was forced to listen to only moments ago. The door opened without any resistance now and though Tony was careful as he stepped out into the empty, shadowed hallway, he also didn’t waste any time in trying to find the boy who’d been left to the hands of that monster in the neighbouring bedroom. Tony had never seen the house before since he’d been bleeding out and almost dead when Peter had brought him in, but based off the man’s earlier footsteps and the echo of their voices, Tony quickly found the staircase and began to hobble down it. Each step he took sent fire up his leg but it was nothing compared to the dread that had settled over his heart and consumed every nerve until he was almost overwhelmed with adrenaline.

How had he not seen it coming? Tony Stark was a genius, and yet he hadn’t pieced together all the hints -whether intentional or not- that Peter had been laying down throughout their short time together. His skittishness. His self-deprecation. His dead-eyed stare when his father didn’t come home on time. Every moment he’d spent with the boy over the past day seemed to rush back like a tidal wave in that moment, displaying everything in a new and painful clarity.

 _I’m so sorry Peter,_ Tony thought guiltily. _I should’ve known… I’m sorry…_

Planting his socked feet on the floor of the lower level, Tony pushed away the nausea rising in his stomach and turned instead to the adjoining kitchen. At first it seemed empty, but a quick survey of the surrounding rooms showed it was the only one with the light on, meaning that this must have been the right place.

Had Peter moved after the fight?

No, Tony corrected himself. Not a fight. A fight implied that both parties were able to attack, but there was no situation where a child could fairly defend themselves against their drunken, abusive parent. There should never be a situation where they would need to either…

His thoughts were cut off by a muffled whimper from further inside the kitchen though, snapping his gaze towards the dining table and urging him to step towards it.

“Kid?” Tony whispered, mindful that the walls weren’t exactly soundproof and hoping not to attract unwanted attention. “Kid, you there?”

The strained wheeze that followed was all Tony needed before he stepped around the edge of the table and stumbled at the sight laid out before him, gripping onto one of the wooden chairs out of fear of collapsing on the spot. Shards of glass were scattered against the pale, tiled floor and trails of blood were tricking along the grout like tiny crimson rivers, so vibrant and glistening under the fluorescent lights above. And then in the middle of all the chaos, curled up and shivering on the unforgiving floor, was _Peter_.

The sweet, selfless kid who had saved his life was now trembling on the floor with barely contained sobs, hands stained red and his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.

“’M sorry…” Peter suddenly croaked out, his voice reduced to a whisper. “So-sorry… ‘m sor…”

His incoherent mumbling is what finally tore Tony out of his horrified trance, rushing over and avoiding the glass on the floor until he was kneeling beside the boy with a hand hovering just above his shoulder. “Kid…? It’s me, it’s Tony,” he said softly, _soothingly_. “It’s gonna be alright Pete. I’m here now… I’m here…”

Every muscle in Peter’s body was as tense as a bow string, waiting… waiting for a punishment he’d been promised for daring to speak at all.

With his own heart shattering, Tony finally rested his hand over Peter’s bicep and ignored the shudder that rolled down his spine in response, whispering “Don’t be afraid kid, okay? I’m here and- and god… you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this…”

Maybe it was his warm voice, or maybe it was the mournful words that never would have been spoken by his asshole of a father, but the boy finally lowered his arm from his face to stare up at Tony in shock. It took everything in the man not to physically recoil at the red, swelling bruise that had enveloped Peter’s eye, or blood smeared down his chin from the cut in his lip, but he shoved away his own dismay and forced himself to smile instead. Forced himself not to show the absolute devastation he felt inside.

_You have to keep it together, for him… For Peter…_

“Mister Stark…?”

Tony’s gaze softened at the weary murmur. “Hey kid…”

Peter blinked, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing, before his gaze trailed down to his blood stained, glass impaled palms. “Oh…” he breathed, his eyes going foggy again.

Whatever paternal instincts that had somehow survived his years of grief reared back up in Tony like a tsunami as he took a gentle hold of Peter’s wrists and began guiding him to his feet, leading Peter away from the shattered glass and towards the sink with a reassuring chant of “It’s alright kid, you’re safe, I got you… I got you…”

It almost seemed like second nature as he rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back in comforting motions and rummaged around the drawers quietly with his other hand to find a pair of tweezers. He somehow managed to find one without ever leaving the boy’s side and pulled one of Peter’s shaking, blood stained hands into his own, surprised when he received almost no resistance in response. But the moment that Tony caught sight of Peter’s blank expression, his eyes glazed with more than just tears as he stared off into a different galaxy entirely, he was suddenly awash with guilt.

“I’m not going to hurt you Peter. _Never_ …” he whispered, his own voice cracking at the boy’s name. “Christ, I’d- I’d never even _think_ about it kid… and I’m sorry…”

Peter’s gaze remained unseeing despite his solemn promise, stray tears falling down his cheeks with every sluggish blink.

Every overwhelming emotion building up in Tony’s chest demanded that he comfort the boy until his eyes were alight again with sunshine, but his mind, so used to panic and horror, took over and dragged his attention back to Peter’s bleeding hands. _Fix the physical first, then work on the mental later,_ he told himself firmly.

“This might sting a bit kid, but I need to get the glass out, okay?”

Just like he’d expected, Peter didn’t respond, his eyes remaining empty.

Tony breathed out a sigh and hated himself for feeling the smallest bit grateful for the boy’s dissociation, not wanting to inflict any more pain than he had already endured but needing to get the glass out in order to help him. So steeling his nerves, Tony got to work and began pulling out every little shard of glass that had lodged into his palm with careful precision. One by one. Piece by piece.

Soon enough Tony’s focus began to override the boiling, chaotic emotions that had been brewing in his soul, rendering him a blank-faced machine of his own as he removed shard after shard from Peter’s fragile hands. Hands that used to swing around in excitement and awe. Hands that created amazing formulas and sketched down every idea that came to Peter’s brilliant mind.

Hands that -though clear of glass now- were torn up and bleeding from silent wounds that may never truly heal.

Tony had to blink a few times to realise that he’d finished his job already, glancing up hopefully only to find that Peter had not moved from the position he’d started in, except maybe for a few more tear tracks running down his face. With a deep breath to steady himself, Tony kicked himself back into gear and turned on the tap, ushering Peter’s hands under the stream and watching the water stain red before swirling into the drain. Next, he grabbed some clean cloths out of one of the nearby drawers and tied it around Peter’s hands to stop the blood flow. The wounds were small, but they were many, and Tony didn’t want to take any risks.

“Alright kid, all done,” he murmured with what he hoped was a light tone. “I’ll get some… some real bandages for you soon, once we get out of here-“

“I can’t leave,” Peter said, his voice coarse but eyes still glassy. “I can’t leave the house…”

“Well you sure as hell aren’t staying,” Tony muttered as he guided them towards the nearby chairs.

When Tony lowered him into a seat though that’s when the boy suddenly blinked, as if dragging himself back to reality, and stared down at his wrapped-up palms with a shuddering exhale. Tony was still cradling Peter’s hands in his own, almost afraid to let him go as he sat across from the teen with a sudden weight on his shoulders. Now that the immediate had been resolved there was a lot to address, and it seemed neither of them knew where to begin.

“I can’t leave,” Peter said after a few painstaking moments, the sorrow present in his eyes giving it a different kind of weight this time.

“Why not kid?” Tony asked.

Gazing up at him with wide, teary eyes, Peter whispered “It’s against the rules…”

Tony shook his head. “You can’t stay here Pete. Not with him, not after _this_.”

“He didn’t mean it,” Peter said, much to Tony’s disgust. “He gets- gets tired sometimes and can’t… can’t control it. It’s not his fau-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Tony hissed, that rage flaring up in his throat without warning. Peter was quick to recoil at the harsh tone though, and within a heartbeat Tony was back to that soft, paternal voice, saying “I’m sorry Pete, but everything that happened tonight is entirely _his_ fault. A father should never hit their child, _never_.”

Fingers twitching, Peter said weakly “I shouldn’t have talked back…”

“That doesn’t matter Pete. No parent should hit their child, no exceptions.”

“But-“

“Ah ah!” Tony cut him off with a firm shake of his head. “You hear me? _No exceptions_.”

For a moment, Peter stared the man dead in the eye, searching for something. Trustworthiness? Safety? Comfort, maybe?

Tony wasn’t sure if he found it or not, but Peter suddenly bowed his head with a pained exhale, whispering “But I’m- I’m his son…” A beat of silence, and then, “H-He cares about me…”

Tony knew this was coming, but it still broke his heart to no end to hear it. He knew deep down that the abuse must have been ongoing, that this had happened repeatedly for Peter to act the way he did, and that Peter may not know how bad it truly was. But the statement, so shaky even in Peter’s own voice, solidified for Tony the need to protect this kid.

Because if he didn’t, then who would?

Fourteen years old and it took Tony, a complete stranger, to accidentally stumble along and almost die at the front of his house for these demons to be revealed. If Tony were to leave without taking Peter out of this hellhole, then he would be just as bad as the monster lying in wait upstairs, just as responsible for the wounds on Peter’s body as if he had thrown the punches himself.

So against all odds, it was up to him now to make it right.

“A father should love their son kid, but this,” Tony squeezed the teenager’s bony wrists, before raising a hand and grazing his fingertips over the edge of Peter’s bruised eye. “ _This_ is not love. This is not care. This is wrong, Peter. And I think somewhere inside, you already know that...”

Tears fell out of Peter’s eyes as he stared down at the floor with a strained grimace. “…Where would I go?” he asked, his voice so small, so afraid.

“With me,” Tony replied without hesitation, hope rising in his chest as he added swiftly “We’ll- we’ll go to New York, okay?”

Peter’s deep brown eyes were locked back onto his in an instant, entranced just like they had been every other time he’d mentioned the city but this time with a certain gravity to it. The realisation that he could really _see it_ if he dared _._

Seeing his opportunity to convince him, Tony continued hastily “We’ll go see everything. I’ll give you a tour of my tower, and we’ll go to Central Park, and I’ll take you to Coney Island- god, kid, you’re going to love it.”

For a moment there was something- something like _hope_ in Peter’s eyes, and Tony wanted so desperately to cling onto it, only for the shadows to cast over his expression once more. “How will we get there?” Peter asked shakily. “It’s a three-day drive, and there’s no phones in the house to call anyone…”

Tony’s mind was already running at hyper speed so it didn’t take him long to snap his fingers and say resolutely “I’ll hotwire the car outside and call my friend once we reach town. How about that?”

“What about your ankle?”

_Damnit, this kid is so selfless._

“We’ll figure something out,” Tony said confidently. “All that matters is that we get as far away from here as possible, alright?”

There was another slither of light shining through Peter’s eyes, but he dragged his teeth over his lip anxiously a moment later and said “He’ll notice though… he’ll find us-“

“I swear to you kid, he will _not_ find us,” Tony said, feeling just as confident as he had the day he came out to the world as Iron Man, or the day he held his son in his arms. “I will protect you, no matter what. All I need you to do, is _trust me_ …”

Such a bold statement. Such a riskier gamble.

They hadn’t even known each other for a full day and yet here Tony was, a stranger in almost every way, promising to protect him like no one else had for his entire young life. Offering to take him to a new city, a new life, a new _everything_. It was crazy! Absolutely insane.

And yet every atom of Tony’s body knew he was doing the right thing. He’d made many decisions in his life; some not so great, others _really_ not great, but this time, he just _knew_ that it was the right choice. No doubts, no second-guessing. This was the only option.

Now all he needed was for Peter to agree.

And naturally, the teen looked startled, his eyes searching Tony’s face for any sign of distrust or deceit and -upon finding nothing- he ducked his head and stared down at his hands with a sigh. His cut up, bandaged hands that still rested in the palms of the man offering him a chance to escape. A chance for something _better_. The kitchen remained quiet for a long time, but Tony just let the silence drag on, knowing he was thinking. Knowing that he’d at least gotten him to the point of considering leaving, which was a miracle of itself. And when Peter’s hands began to shake again, Tony rubbed his thumb against his palm comfortingly, watching the ring on his index finger shimmer with each small movement.

Tony couldn’t help but think that James -wherever he was- would be proud of his decision.

And then Peter looked up, his expression surprisingly masked but his eyes alight with emotions, and Tony found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

_Come on kid, trust me…_

_Trust me…_

“Okay then.”

A relieved grin broke out on Tony’s face, and he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered when Peter smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for a roooooad-trip?!
> 
> (Comments keep me going, so let me know what you thought! :D)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought in the comments!


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